


Right to Rise

by tenandi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 19th Century America, Alternate Universe, Azi is British, Crowley's a good ol boy, Drama & Romance, Human AU, Learning to read, Pining, RST, Steinbeck had something to do with this, Tragic Pasts, homesteaders, learning to love, oh the pining, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22824448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenandi/pseuds/tenandi
Summary: There was nothing more beautiful than the sun rising over the plains. Dawn bled like a cup of coffee spilling over the morning paper, arresting Crowley’s attention. He’d always pause his chores to mark the progression from grey to blue and brilliant orange, moving like a curtain up over a stage. As a child he’d believed God must have painted the sky over the stars each day, but the farmer had long since abandoned both faith and imagination. Instead he relied on more tangible tools, the ones that could reign in 160 acres of the Great American Desert. His homestead was his Eden and he fit it to his own design.My take on the farmer/librarian trope (can't get enough of it), set in 1895 or thereabouts.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 263





	Right to Rise

1.

There was nothing more beautiful than the sun rising over the plains. Dawn bled like a cup of coffee spilling over the morning paper, arresting Crowley’s attention. He’d always pause his chores to mark the progression from grey to blue and brilliant orange, moving like a curtain up over a stage. As a child he’d believed God must have painted the sky over the stars each day, but the farmer had long since abandoned both faith and imagination. Instead he relied on more tangible tools, the ones that could reign in 160 acres of the Great American Desert. His homestead was his Eden and he fit it to his own design.

Crowley rarely went to town other than to sell eggs and milk outside of the harvesting season. He had visitors even less frequently and enjoyed no real company outside of his hound Lee. The dog was thumping his tail in the dirt as Crowley mended a break in his barbed-wire fence.

“What?” the farmer asked disinterestedly.

Lee whined and stood, his eyes trained on a line of dirt lifting from the road perhaps half a mile away. Crowley tilted up his wide-brimmed hat to watch an ox-drawn wagon make its slow progression toward the town, likely a huckster on the way to sell their wares. But then again, the wagon turned and began to amble down his private drive. Crowley pricked his thumb on a wayward barb and cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was a distraction.

He stood and slowly made his way down the hill that led to his cabin, Lee weaving circles around his ambling gait. He arrived just as the wagon rolled to a stop, and a very strange-looking gentleman hopped down in front of him. Crowley’s hip jutted to one side, hands stuck in his pockets. He wasn’t one for starting conversations.

“Hello!” the man said brightly as he tugged on his suit jacket. The creamy white glowed in the sunlight, cleaner than a feast day linen in church. Crowley spat at the ground and waited.

“I’m terribly sorry to inconvenience you,” the man dithered on in his pronounced accent. “It’s just I saw your place from the road. There aren’t many settlements out here, you see.”

Crowley wondered if the man had ever worked a day in his life. His hands looked softer than a newborn’s. A long gold chain trailed from the center of his vest and Crowley could make out a winged cherub etched on its face. Old money, the farmer thought. Lee seemed to like him enough, though. The dog sat promptly at the man’s side as if he were decamping.

“State your business,” Crowley prompted. “Don’t have all day.”

“Of course!” the man smiled, and suddenly the sun was at a loss. “It seems one of my wheels is starting to wobble a bit. I don’t suppose you could recommend a repair shop nearby? I’m not much of a frontiersman, if you hadn’t guessed.”

Crowley snorted openly but looked at the wagon with interest. He moved to inspect it, squatting down to check the hub. After a long pause he stood back up and shrugged. “Bushing’s cracked,” he offered.

The stranger drew off his intemerate straw hat and tugged at the white curls underneath. Everything about him was fine. “I see,” he said at length. “I suppose that’s unfortunate. Busted bushing.” He pronounced the last word as if saying it for the first time. Crowley narrowed his eyes. How in Hell had this man made it this far on his own?

The farmer scrubbed a hand down his face, scratching at the stubble under his chin. He heaved a reluctant sigh as the man looked at him hopefully.

“I can fix it,” Crowley admitted at last.

“Oh, oh! Thank you!” the blonde brightened instantly. His hand shot out and hovered in the air until Crowley took it. It was softer than he’d even guessed.

“I’m Aziraphale, by the way,” the man said with a grin. He didn’t release his grip until Crowley introduced himself, leading to an even bigger smile.

“Well then, Crowley!” the blonde said as he clapped his hands together. “How long will it take, if you don’t mind me asking? I have an appointment in town, you see.”

Crowley thought it over. “Few days,” he drawled. “I’ve my own work to attend to.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened but he seemed to accept the news gracefully. “Y-yes, of course, naturally” he stammered. “Perhaps I could help out here in the meantime.”

The redhead flexed an eyebrow. Not likely.

“I may not be that useful out of doors,” Aziraphale went on. “But I can make lye soap. Wash and mend your clothing. And I’m a tolerable chef as well. Might as well make myself useful if I’m going to be in your hair.”

Crowley nodded. “Alright then.” He began to walk off to finish up the fence, but the blonde was already calling him back.

“I-if you don’t mind,” Aziraphale sputtered, “I didn’t want to enter your home without permission.”

Crowley pulled his hat down and shrugged. “Expect you can find the door on your own.” Without a further word on the subject, he made his way up the hill. Only when he was halfway did he realize Lee had stayed below, happily following Aziraphale into the cabin. Traitorous mutt, Crowley noted silently.

2.

There were plenty of chores to keep Crowley busy, and he didn’t return to the house until the sun began to sink low over the horizon. He felt a bit like a stranger in his own home knowing that someone else was inside, but what he didn’t expect was to walk into a different home altogether.

His jaw dropped as he stared around the interior. Aziraphale had certainly been true to his word about being useful. He’d swept out the dust and cobwebs, polished all the furniture, and had even brought several bunches of wildflowers inside to decorate. The man himself was steadied over the crackling fireplace, stirring a cauldron of something that smelled amazing.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Aziraphale said over his shoulder. He busied himself with setting the table as if he’d lived there for years.

Crowley almost complimented his guest, but decided against it. Instead, he went back to his room and changed out of his grime-smeared clothing, lighting a few oil lamps along the way. By the time he emerged, Aziraphale was standing expectantly next to the spread he’d laid out.

“Ah!” the blonde said. “I nearly forgot!” He bustled outside and returned with a brown jug, steadily pouring out a few fingers of alcohol into a pair of glasses. “I hope you don’t find drinking offensive…” he added quickly.

Crowley shook his head as he sat down. “It’s been a while. What is this?”

“My own recipe,” Aziraphale said excitedly. “Homemade whiskey. I’ve been told it’s quite potent, so mind how you go.”

The redhead scoffed, draining his glass before dissolving into a fit of coughs. He slapped the table, thoroughly impressed. “You don’t mess around!” he laughed.

The blonde smiled delicately at him. “No, I don’t.”

Crowley was about to dig in when Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Will you say grace?” he asked gently.

“No use for it,” the farmer replied. “But I won’t stop you.”

The blonde bowed his head and Crowley sat back with his arms folded.

“Dear heavenly father,” Aziraphale said quietly. “We thank you for this generous bounty. Thank you, in your wisdom, for guiding me to my new friend Mr. Crowley when I was in need. Please bless us and grant us good health. Amen.”

The redhead stared across the table as if he’d been frozen on the spot. He couldn’t think of the last person who’d called him a friend. He cleared his throat, banishing the thought from his mind, and focused on the meal instead. He took a generous bite and swore.

At first Aziraphale glanced up nervously, but Crowley was obviously enjoying himself. He quickly gobbled down every bite on his plate before helping himself to a second serving.

“Where’d you learn how to cook like that?” the farmer asked once he was sated. Aziraphale had refilled his whiskey glass and was sipping at it appreciatively.

“I’ve traveled a bit,” he offered. “But I used to watch my mother quite closely in the kitchen. I’ve always been fascinated with homemaking.”

Crowley let out a little giggle. The alcohol was buzzing happily through his body. “That’s women’s work,” he retorted.

He instantly regretted his comment when Aziraphale blushed with embarrassment. “You’re definitely not from around here though,” the redhead hurried on, “Sure you do things differently where you’re from.”

“Ah,” the blonde steadied himself. “I hail from England.”

Crowley let out a low whistle. “How in the world’d you end up in Kansas?”

Aziraphale sat back in his chair, nursing his drink. His face was troubled although his tone remained light. “My work takes me from place to place,” he replied. “I collect and sell books, you see.”

“Books?” Crowley asked incredulously. “You make a living on that?”

“Not really,” Aziraphale answered, and both men had a good laugh.

“There’s a small lending library in town,” Crowley added.

“Ah, yes, I’m aware,” the blonde chimed in. “That’s where I have business, you see.”

Crowley nodded, not sure how to continue the conversation. He’d never learned how to read, himself.

“It’s getting late,” he said finally. “I should probably turn in.”

Aziraphale stood up first. “I suppose I should as well. It was a long day on the road.”

Crowley was confused as the man made his way toward the door. “Where’r you goin’?”

The blonde stopped and turned. “I have a pallet in the wagon,” he explained.

The farmer hesitated and frowned. “I’ve a spare room that’ll suit well enough.”

Aziraphale appeared to flush, but maybe it was just a trick of the firelight. “Very well then. I’m sure it will. I’ll just grab a few of my things.”

Crowley didn’t wait for his return, opting to head to his room instead. He slipped out of his clothes and crawled under the quilt, exhausted and a little drunk. Normally he’d pass out as soon as his head hit the pillow, but now there was someone else in his home. He listened carefully, straining to hear above the crickets outside. Eventually the door opened and closed, and soft footfalls echoed through the hall. If he concentrated, he could almost hear the man breathing. The thought was comforting.

3.

Crowley spent most of the early morning with the livestock. He milked his dairy cows, collected eggs from the chickens, and reshoed one of his horses before the sun even rose. He was just about to see to Aziraphale’s wagon when he saw the man pinning clothing on a line strung up behind the house. Crowley leaned against the barn and watched him for a while.

The dawn set off soft pink rays of light that filtered over the blonde as he worked. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his button-down, his vest and jacket left inside the house. Crowley could just make out the hum an unfamiliar song, but then Aziraphale began to sing in earnest.

“You had a dream, well, I had one too. I know mine’s best ‘cause it was of you. Come sweetheart tell me, now is the time. You tell me your dream, I’ll tell you mine.”

Crowley smiled despite himself. The song was sweet and the man’s voice was sonorous though occasional clothespins in his mouth muffled the verses. A strange thought came to the farmer as the bookseller moved around the yard. He looked like he belonged there. For a second the wind caught a sheet and Crowley could have sworn he saw her face behind it, her hands soothing it down, but that was impossible.

Suddenly Aziraphale glanced up and caught the farmer staring. Crowley blushed profusely as if he’d been watching the man do something more intimate, and coughed to cover his chagrin.

“I only wear two or three outfits,” he called out. “Looks like you’ve dug out half of my wardrobe. And all the bedding in the house.”

Aziraphale waved him off. “Then everything will be in tip-top condition when you bring it out again. Besides, I like doing it!”

Crowley snuck a peek at the blonde’s hands as he came nearer. The cool cream of his palms was marred with flushed pink skin, evidence of his time with the washboard. The sight bothered the farmer. Another immaculate thing tarnished because of him.

“I’m about to check on that wheel,” Crowley said faintly. “We’ll see if we can get you fixed up.”

“That’s wonderful!” Aziraphale said joyfully. “I’ll finish this up and then I’ve got a date with a number of your socks.” Crowley raised an eyebrow and the blonde laughed. “They’ve more holes than a colander. It’s obscene.”

The farmer didn’t object. “Suit yourself,” he said easily.

He left Aziraphale to it and spotted Lee curled up by the wagon as he rounded the house. The dog wagged his tail as Crowley came over to reinspect the wheel. He was just about to set to it when he realized he might as well make sure the rest of the wagon was in working order. There was no good in fixing one wheel if the whole thing could shake apart as Aziraphale continued his journey.

He walked around the perimeter of the wagon, studying the sideboards, axels, and the yoke. As he neared the rear he stepped up on the bed to examine the bonnet, which seemed secure enough. If he happened to glance at the holdings inside it was just a coincidence, and yet the contents arrested his attention. The whole wagon was filled with books, volume after volume. He reached inside and pulled out the nearest one, squinting at the cover. The letters were inscrutable to his eyes, but he enjoyed running his fingers over them all the same.

He was caught off guard by the sound of Lee barking and nearly fell off the back of the wagon. The book was still clutched tightly in his hands when Aziraphale appeared by his side, some opening remark caught in his throat. His eyes focused sharply on the novel and his face went five shades of red.

“Sorry,” Crowley said automatically. “I was just about to start working on the wheel and I saw your books and I…” His sentence trickled to an unexpected end as the blonde snatched the book away from him.

“I don’t…” Aziraphale attempted. “That is to say, this isn’t the type of literature I usually acquire!”

Crowley was exceptionally confused and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t know what that is,” he said plainly.

“Oh!” the blonde recovered. “You mean you haven’t heard of ‘Teleny’?”

The farmer shrugged. “Can’t say I have.”

Aziraphale visibly relaxed, a shaky breath escaping him as he tucked the book back into the wagon. “Well...nevermind then. Nothing to worry about.”

Crowley gleaned that he was missing out on some essential information. “What’s it about?” he asked.

Aziraphale blushed again and struggled to formulate a response. “It’s a romance. A um...forbidden affair between two...people.”

“Ah,” Crowley replied. “Is it...indecent?” He arched his eyebrows, enjoying the blonde’s flustered response.

“Only according to some,” Aziraphale said briskly. “Now then, I was coming to see if you wanted any breakfast.”

“Sure,” Crowley answered. He hesitated a moment and spoke again. “Aziraphale? D’you think you might...read to me sometime? I haven’t really heard any stories for a long while. Might be nice.” He stared at the ground, not wanting to see the blonde’s reaction, but Aziraphale’s smile could have blotted out the sun.

“Certainly,” he said. “But of course you’re always welcome to borrow any title you’d like. I might make some recommendations…”

The farmer shrank in on himself, too ashamed to admit the truth. “I’d rather you read to me. If you don’t mind.” He toed his boot into the dirt like a child.

“Of course I will,” Aziraphale replied warmly. “I’d love to.”

Crowley finally met his gaze and had to take a breath to steady himself. Of course he’d noticed Aziraphale’s eyes before. They were striking in comparison to his pale complexion and ice-blonde hair. But now, when they were lit with something warm and alive, an unexpressed passion catching like wildfire… They were bluer than anything Crowley had seen. And oh, how they shined.

-

That night Aziraphale made good on his promise. After another delicious meal, the two men sat by the fire and listened to the sound of a storm whipping across the plains. Aziraphale was reading from an adventurous book called ‘The Time Machine,’ and Crowley was hanging on his every word. It only took a few hours to get through the whole thing, but it was well past the farmer’s bedtime when they finished. At that point, however, he was too excited to sleep.

“Incredible,” Crowley repeated for the hundredth time. “Absolutely incredible. Where do you think he went on his second journey?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Don’t you mean when?”

“Yeah, wow,” the redhead went on. Aziraphale had never seen him more animated. Suddenly Crowley jumped up and started pacing the room.

“If you had a machine like that, where...or when would you go, Aziraphale?” he asked.

The blonde thought about it for a while. “To the beginning.”

Crowley looked confused.

“THE beginning,” Aziraphale clarified. “The garden of Eden. Imagine being one of the first to see God’s creation. To meet the first two humans in paradise…”

The farmer shook his head. “I’ve seen enough people to last me a lifetime.”

“Oh?” his guest asked with a chuckle. “Then what about you? Where and when would you go?”

Crowley threw his hands up in the air as if juggling too many ideas before his face fell. He stared into the fire, his face stricken. “To the beginning,” he said more to himself. He remembered her eyes when she’d looked up from her knitting, one hand resting on her belly. “A different beginning.”

Aziraphale didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant, because the farmer walked back into his bedroom without another word. The blonde’s heart ached. What on earth had that been all about?

4.

Aziraphale found Crowley working on the wagon the next morning and decided to take a walk around the property. Lee joined him, making a good companion as he wended through the fields and admired the endless plains beyond. It was a beautiful day made more beautiful by the accompaniment of songbirds sweeping under the clouds, and the breeze that carried them.

Aziraphale eventually found himself heading into a shady copse, providing some relief from the sun which had moved directly overhead. Lee led the way as if he knew where he was going, plodding toward a small clearing that was obviously manmade. In its center were two bare crosses, one smaller than the other. Aziraphale knelt over the site and observed two bunches of dried flowers resting on each plot. He’d hardly begun to formulate a thought on the matter when a rough voice tore him out of his reverie.

“What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale spun around and was surprised to see Crowley standing stiffly on the perimeter. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“Leave!”

The blonde stood slowly and regarded Crowley’s expression. Everything about the man was closed off and hostile. Aziraphale stumbled past him, Lee in tow, and kept walking faster and faster until he’d made it back to the house. Slightly breathless, he finally gained the courage to look behind him, but Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

He stood awkwardly for a few moments before he had the presence of mind to check on the wagon wheel. It appeared that Crowley had finished his work to his satisfaction. Not sure of what else to do, Aziraphale grabbed an inkpen and some paper from his wagon. He rattled off a hasty note thanking the farmer for his hospitality and asking forgiveness for invading his privacy. Whatever that site had been, it was obvious that Aziraphale was not welcome there.

That realization made his chest constrict. He’d settled into amiable companionship with Crowley while forgetting his place as a guest, and nothing more. He’d likely overstayed his welcome anyways, even without the recent incident.

Aziraphale went inside and left the note on the farmer’s chair, making sure that the house looked its best before taking his leave. He stopped on the threshold to take one last glance, and had just about the most absurd notion of his life cross his mind. What would it be like to stay here with Crowley? To care for him and tend to his needs? He cursed the tears welling in his eyes and reminded himself of what happened the last time he’d had such ridiculous thoughts. Shame ate him up from the inside as he forced himself out the door.

He found his oxen where he’d bedded them in the barn and hitched them to the wagon, willing himself not to look back as he drove off. There was nothing to look back for anyways.

Crowley didn’t come back home until the sun hung low in the sky. He stopped and looked down from the top of the hill, noting the empty space where the wagon had been. Lee was lying in its tracks, not even lifting his head when his owner walked by.

Crowley tried very hard to think about nothing before heading into the house. It didn’t really hit him how empty it was until then. He saw Aziraphale’s note and picked it up, squinting at the lines on the page as if they might magically assemble themselves into some semblance of meaning, but of course they didn’t. He carried it with him as he walked to the spare bedroom and lingered in the doorway.

The bed was neatly made and the room looked unused other than something that had been left sitting on the side table. Crowley came closer and sat on the mattress, realizing that Aziraphale had left his copy of ‘The Time Machine’ behind. He recognized the worn cover since he’d stared at it most of the time the man was reading to him. He could still hear the blonde’s voice if he concentrated hard enough.

Crowley folded up Aziraphale’s note and pressed it in between the pages of the book before lying back on the bed. A familiar scent wafted up though he hadn’t noticed it when the man was there. Not a cologne or soap even, but something warm and comforting he couldn’t name. He hugged the book to his chest and turned onto his side, breathing into the pillow as if he could extract something from it. He didn’t even realize when he started crying. Even less when he blessedly drifted asleep.

-

Society in town was somewhat lacking, but Aziraphale made a natural addition. He was well-received by the librarian, Ms. Anathema Device, and was offered a permanent post on a part-time basis. Through her Aziraphale met the other denizens of Tadfield, and soon had a small but affable group of friends to socialize with.

He ended up renting a room from one Madame Tracy, a homesteader’s widow turned innkeeper with a wicked sense of humor. She shared his passion for literature, particularly his French novels of the salacious variety. Aziraphale had never met a lady quite like her.

He got on very well with the grocer, Newton Pulsifer, and often traded recipes for discounted produce, helping him keep his small budget in tact. All in all, he enjoyed his residency in Tadfield immensely, and was quite happy to have ended up in such a welcoming community.

Not one month after he arrived did Aziraphale learn about an annual tradition in the town which took the form of a country dance. A bevvy of activity swarmed the local square leading up to the event which would include vendors, musicians, and family-friendly activities. He eagerly volunteered to help with the decorations, and found himself hanging streamers for the better half of the day before the event.

Anathema walked by, arm in arm with the grocer as she looked up at the blonde on his ladder.

“Mr. Fell!” she greeted. “I’ve never seen such a wonderful display!”

Aziraphale paused his work and smiled down at her. “What can I say? I’m having the time of my life!”

“We were just off to check on the farmers’ market if you can lend a hand,” Anathema added. “I’m afraid Mr. Shadwell is causing a stir about the placement of his booth.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Diplomacy is one of my stronger attributes. Of course I will join you.”

He jumped off the lower rung of the ladder as he descended, clapping Newt on the shoulder as he fell in line with the couple. The trio was chatting amiably when they came upon a rather chaotic scene in the market.

As promised, Shadwell was ranting about being stuck in the back of the event space, which he claimed threatened his sales. Apparently he’d found himself there for the third year in a row, and wasn’t going to tolerate the maltreatment any longer. Aziraphale stepped in to negotiate, but wasn’t having much luck in the matter at all.

“I’m sure we can arrange something for next year,” the blonde was saying.

Mr. Shadwell’s face went redder than the tomatoes in his stall. “That’s why they told me last year!” he shouted. “When is ‘next year’ going to be this year?”

Shadwell stopped his tirade when a hand rested on his shoulder, and both he and Aziraphale turned to look at the newest addition to the argument. The blonde was surprised to see none other but Crowley standing by.

“Switch with me,” the redhead said easily.

Shadwell looked like he wanted to keep blustering on, but had little choice other than to accept. “Fine then!” he retorted. He began to pack up his wares while Crowley moved away.

“Um, Crowley…” Aziraphale’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Th-thank you for that,” the blonde continued. “A timely intervention, if ever I saw one.”

The farmer nodded. The tension between them could have split a log. Both seemed to be struggling to resume the conversation. Amazingly, Crowley got there first.

“I see you’ve chosen to stick around,” he said.

“Yes,” the blonde said excitedly. “I do really like it here. I had intended to move on but everyone is just so cordial. I’d be loathe to leave them and...and everything behind.” His brain caught up with his words and he blushed slightly, though Crowley didn’t seem to question his meaning.

“You’ll tire of them soon enough,” he joked, and Aziraphale smiled appreciatively. “Welp…” Crowley interrupted himself, glancing over his shoulder. “I guess I need to move my setup. Better get to it.” He winked before moving away, and the blonde couldn’t help but watch after him. The man’s hips moved in such an exaggerated manner, it must have been intentional.

“Everything sorted then?” Anathema chimed in.

“Uh...er...yes!” Aziraphale answered. “Everything’s tickety-boo. It seems Mr. Crowley was able to put an end to the dispute.”

“Really?” the brunette asked him, following his gaze toward the redhead. He was bent over at the waist sorting through a few baskets of produce.

“Yes!” Aziraphale asserted too emphatically. “He’s quite wiley, actually. Good thing he’s around. Now then, I believe I need to finish my decorations. We’ve only a few hours before the festivities begin!”

The blonde bustled off, not seeing Anathema’s observant assessment of him and the farmer alike. Crowley had straightened up and just happened to be looking right where Aziraphale was heading off to.

“Hm,” the brunette hummed.

5.

Tadfield was no longer a town, but a live animal loosed from its cage. People laughed with abandon, musicians jammed on their instruments, and children ran up and down the square. Aziraphale had never seen anything so splendid, and clapped along as his friends partook in a square dance. He was laughing so hard he almost didn’t notice the quiet woman standing beside him. When he did, he nearly jumped in the air with surprise.

“So sorry!” he laughed. “I didn’t see you there!” If he was admitting it, he might have had a little too much to drink already.

“Make it up to me,” the woman smiled, nodding toward the dancers.

“Ohhh,” Aziraphale groaned. “You’d regret it.” But she was already pulling him toward the floor.

Aziraphale stepped in line, trying to imitate the other dancers and failing miserably. He must have stepped on the lady’s toes at least four times, and the song was already halfway over. She clung to him when he led her back into another couple, nearly sending all four of them to the ground before recovering their balance. All the while she kept her humor, but Aziraphale had a feeling this would be his last dance of the evening.

As the song concluded, the woman tipped her head up and kissed Aziraphale on the cheek. “Stick to your dayjob,” she joked with a smile. The blonde was still blushing when a voice shook him to attention.

“That was a sorry display,” Crowley was saying.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes to heaven. “We don’t have square dancing where I come from. The practice is practically barbaric compared to the waltz.”

Crowley was leaning away, a drink in his hand. He looked a little unsteady. “Never heard of a waltz.” He took a step back and Aziraphale took one forward. A few more steps and they were walking away from the din of the crowd.

“The waltz is the most sophisticated dance in the world,” the blonde was saying, his own head a little fuzzy. “Here, see?” He held up his arms and moved with an invisible partner, demonstrating the box step for the farmer.

“Looks kinda boring,” Crowley commented.

“Hm,” the blonde replied. “Maybe. Depends on who you’re dancing with. How did you fare at the market?”

“Well enough,” the redhead smiled. He drained his cup and looked at it like he’d been tricked. Aziraphale noticed and glanced across the street where his room was.

“Be right back!” he said. When he came out of the lodging with one of his signature whiskey bottles in hand.

“That looks like a terrible idea,” Crowley groaned.

“Yeah,” Aziraphale agreed.

The two men drank and talked for the next hour, digging a little too deep into the bottle as they walked the length of the town. They talked about nothing significant even though it didn’t feel that way. Somewhere deep down Aziraphale felt like Crowley was offering him an unspoken apology, and eventually he got drunk enough to ask.

“You got my note?” the blonde asked during one of the uncommon silences.

“Ohhh, yep,” Crowley replied, and offered nothing more.

“Well...I just wanted to apologize in person. I didn’t mean to break your trust or intrude on your privacy,” Aziraphale added.

Crowley was quiet for a long time and stared off into the sky. Aziraphale was just about to change the subject when the farmer spoke up at last. “My wife died. Two years ago. We had a little girl on the way. Doctor said it was yellow fever.”

The blonde bowed his head as he took in the information. “You must have loved them very much,” he offered.

Crowley leaned back on a white-washed fence and kicked one leg up. They had made it to the outskirts of town and there was hardly a man-made light to be seen, but the moon was full enough to lead the way.

“I’ve been alone for so long now I’ve kind of forgotten what it’s like to be around other people,” the farmer reflected. “You’re the first person who’s stayed in my home since it happened.”

Aziraphale nodded in understanding. “I haven’t done much socializing myself until recently. I had a falling out with my family before I came here.”

“It’s nice to be alone sometimes,” Crowley followed up before looking the blonde in the eyes. “...And sometimes it’s not.”

Aziraphale shot him a small smile and glanced at the ground.

“That lady your sweetheart?” the redhead asked abruptly, his voice higher than usual.

Aziraphale had to rack his brain to answer the question. “My dancing partner? Oh, haha. No. No, I think she had quite the wrong target if that was her intention.”

“Oh,” the farmer replied. “Yeah. Women always want to get hitched.”

The blonde chuffed belatedly. “Yeah...darn them!”

Crowley studied him for a minute. “You really are unusual,” he said at last.

Aziraphale shrugged and shrank against the fence. “I’ve heard that before.”

The redhead jerked around and boxed him in with his hands on either side of his face. He stared at him silently for a long time. “Anyone ever tell you that’s a good thing?”

The bookseller blinked and shook his head slightly. His eyes were locked on Crowley’s.

Aziraphale held his breath as Crowley ducked his head and hovered inches from his face. Their bodies were nearly pressed together and their breath intermingled.

The blonde wavered and shifted his weight. Crowley backed up an inch and stared him down, licking his lower lip. “I should go,” he said, but didn’t move. Instead his eyes trailed over the blonde’s face, pausing at his lips and then continuing their descent. Aziraphale could practically feel the man’s gaze tracing down his body, and then all the way back up. He shivered.

The sound of laughter echoed down the road, and Crowley reluctantly retreated, combing a hand through his bright red hair. He gave Aziraphale one last significant look, and walked away.

Aziraphale let out all the breath in his body as he slid down the fence. He put his hands in his hair and despite himself, couldn’t help the nervous smile that slid over his face.

He finally managed to walk back to town when his legs stopped feeling like jelly. On the way he ran into Anathema who was helping to break down the party.

“Hey!” she smiled. “Where did you disappear to?”

“Oh...nowhere,” the blonde replied, visibly stumbling when he tried to lean on a nonexistent chair.

“Ah,” she replied. “And I suppose it didn’t have anything to do with a mysterious and attractive farmer?”

Aziraphale blanched and played dumb. “That woman I was dancing with was a farmer?”

Anathema gave him her most practiced side eye. “Mm,” she said, not pressing any further to her friend’s relief. “I’d ask you to help out but I think you’re three sheets to the wind. Feel free to take tomorrow off if you need. Everyone’s going to be home nursing their hangover.”

Aziraphale lifted a finger as if he had a point to make but instantly forgot it. Instead, he nodded and laughed.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” the brunette asked him, a hopeful smile on her face.

“Indeed,” he answered. “Grand. Better than a ball.”

Anathema’s smile widened. “Good. Now go home and get some rest, won’t you?”

Aziraphale couldn’t agree more.

6.

Aziraphale had been working for quite some time to develop a traveling library. He realized that many people in the area lived rurally, and seldom came to the library when they were in town. With Anathema’s support, he was able to raise enough funds to purchase a small cart, and stocked it with titles that might appeal to the locals.

On the side he continued to buy and sell rare books, which took him often to the post office. He was there one day just a few weeks after the festival when he ran into Crowley of all people.

“Hello Aziraphale,” the redhead said softly.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale beamed. “What brings you to town?”

“Apparently it’s time for me to prove up,” he replied. He held up a piece of paper he’d just received from the postmaster.

The blonde studied the document and realized it was connected to the Homestead Act. The paper asked for a list of completed land improvements and had room for two witness verifications.

“Well that looks straightforward enough,” he stated. “Congratulations, Crowley.”

“Yeah,” the farmer replied. He stared down at the paper before shaking it in his hand a few times. “Trouble is my handwriting, you know. I doubt the government could make heads or tails of it.”

Aziraphale handed his package and payment to the postmaster while looking at the redhead around his shoulder. “That shouldn’t be too much of a problem, but if you need an amanuensis I’m happy to oblige you.”

Crowley shifted from one foot to another. “A what?”

“A scribe. Someone to write down what you say. My penmanship is impeccable.”

The farmer grunted. “Bet it is. Well...if you don’t mind I could sure use the help.”

“Perfect. I could stop by your place...perhaps tomorrow after lunch? I have something I wanted to show you anyways,” Aziraphale offered.

“Alright then.” Crowley tipped his hat and froze when the postmaster shot him a surprised look. Quickly the redhead swiped it off his head and fumbled with the brim. He walked out of the building without another word.

-

Aziraphale pulled up to Crowley’s house a little earlier than he’d intended. For one, the horse he’d purchased moved faster than the oxen he was used to, while the cart itself was also much lighter. Instead of an hour-long ride he’d cut half the time.

He jumped down from his seat and was immediately greeted by Lee. Aziraphale patted his head before looking around for Crowley, and wandered to the side of the house when Lee ran off that way. He’d just rounded the corner when he spotted the redhead standing next to a wash basin. The farmer had stripped off his upper garments and was soaping his chest when he looked up.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley said excitedly. “Thanks for stopping by.” He continued to wash himself without a shred of self-consciousness, water and suds dripping off of his arms.

“Thought I’d wash up before you got here,” Crowley continued. “I was spreading manure in the field and didn’t want to offend your English sensibilities.” He chuckled at that before bending at the waist and dumping the bin of water over his head. He barely bothered to wring out his hair before flipping back up and shaking his head a few times.

“Damn that’s cold!” he cried out as he rubbed at his eyes.

Aziraphale couldn’t move. His eyes scanned over Crowley’s muscled frame, hard and lean from working in the fields everyday. The chilly water brought up goosebumps on his skin and left his small nipples pert and erect on his chest. Only when the redhead grabbed a spare shirt and slung it over his shoulder could Aziraphale use his brain properly.

“Well,” the blonde said tightly. “Thanks for your consideration.” He turned on his heel and Crowley hurried to catch up, falling in step beside him.

“So where’s this surprise of yours?” the redhead asked.

“Just um...up ahead,” Aziraphale answered. “And...wa la!” He held out his arms to demonstrate the traveling book cart, a self-pleased smile on his face. “What do you think?”

Crowley walked around the cart. “She’s a fine mare,” he said with a toothy grin.

Aziraphale swatted at the farmer and frowned. “The cart, Crowley! It’s so I can travel around and share books with people outside of town.”

“Ohh,” Crowley pretended to understand slowly. “A door to door librarian.”

“Precisely,” the blonde agreed. “Now then, I think we had some paperwork to complete?”

The redhead motioned his guest to follow him inside the house with no further ado. Together, they sat at the dining table and Crowley produced the necessary form. The work didn’t take long, other than Crowley trying to remember all of the improvements he’d made on his land. In addition to the cabin and cultivation of the crops, he’d added a windmill, dug a well, and built a stable for the livestock, among other things. The form was relatively straightforward, but one tiny detail held the farmer up.

“You just need to sign here at the bottom,” Aziraphale said helpfully. He handed his fountain pen to his friend and waited expectantly.

Crowley took his time staring at the piece of paper as if it might be rigged with a booby trap. He waited for so long, in fact, that the blonde felt it necessary to prompt him.

“Just your signature,” he said.

Crowley fiddled with the pen and finally laid it down, defeated. “I can’t.”

“It’s just a formality,” Aziraphale argued. “But a necessary one. I don’t see why you-”

“I said I can’t,” the redhead interrupted. “As in...I really can’t. I don’t know how to write my name.” He stood from the table and shrugged into his shirt now that he was completely dry. Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice how the man’s fingers trembled on the buttons.

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” the blonde said quickly. “You just need a little practice.” He went out to his cart and brought back a ream of paper, setting it on the table. Crowley had reseated himself but refused to look his friend in the eyes.

Aziraphale wrote out Crowley’s name in careful script before creating a series of lines on a spare page. “Here, just copy what I printed. There’s a few lines that’ll help you get it just right.”

The farmer bit his lower lip as he picked up the pen. “You won’t make fun of me?”

“Never,” Aziraphale swore, and Crowley knew he meant it. He heaved a sigh of relief as he put himself to the task.

Aziraphale went back outside and browsed through the books he’d brought, selecting a few he thought Crowley might enjoy. He picked up ‘Leaves of Grass,’ a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and ‘The War of the Worlds,’ considering how much Crowley had liked ‘The Time Machine.’ He brought all three inside and checked on his friend’s progress approvingly.

“Better each time,” the blonde commented. “I think you’re ready to sign for real.”

Crowley took a deep breath before penning his name on the document proudly. “Well now...I’ve never done that before. I feel official.”

“You are,” Aziraphale said warmly. “And look here, I’ve brought you some choices from the book cart. Do you want all three?”

The redhead eyed the pile of books and Aziraphale could see something break down in his expression. Crowley rolled his eyes up to heaven and sighed. “Can’t read either,” he said quietly. “I don’t know why I kept that a secret but there it is. That’s why I wanted you to read to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped open and he promptly closed it. “No matter,” he replied. “In fact...what a wonderful excuse to visit you more often, don’t you think? I could stop by every week to read a few chapters if you like.”

Crowley’s face softened and his hand reached out as if to close over the blonde’s, but he retracted and hid it in his lap. “Okay then. Um...Aziraphale? D’you think we could start now?” His childlike expression made the librarian want to melt.

‘It just so happens I’ve no other appointments,” Aziraphale stated. He picked up the first book under his fingers and opened it up, reading from the first page: “I celebrate myself and sing myself. And what I assume you shall assume. For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you...”

7.

Aziraphale came often to Crowley’s house and within a few weeks they went through several books. Crowley loved to listen to stories and poetry alike, and particularly enjoyed sharing his opinions and asking questions after Aziraphale finished. The men would chat for hours, often taking longer in the course of their conversations than the time it took to read. And slowly Aziraphale would also point out certain letters and words and sentences, coaxing Crowley to begin learning how to read on his own.

One afternoon the day started out bright and hospitable as Aziraphale began his journey to the farm, only to have the weather turn on him halfway through. He arrived soaked to the bone and shivering upon Crowley’s doorstep, with only a passing thought to his own health. His chief concern was the books.

The redhead dragged Aziraphale inside before running out to the cart and escorting the horse into the barn where Lee was riding out the storm, his eyes anxious as if he knew something was amiss. Did even the damned dog know how much Aziraphale treasured his library?

Crowley hauled the damp tomes inside and threw an armload near the fire as Aziraphale looked on.

“Will they be alright?” he asked hesitantly, as if awaiting news of a risky surgery.

“They’ll dry out,” Crowley mumbled unhappily when he saw him shaking in his boots. “It’s you who needs looking after.” He all but yanked Aziraphale by the collar back into his bedroom. The librarian was shivering so hard he couldn’t manage to undress on his own, so Crowley set his jaw and began to strip the man himself.

He’d gotten the blonde down to his underclothes before Aziraphale held up a staying hand. “P-p-propriety!” he objected, but that only made the farmer snort.

“Nothing you’ve got I haven’t seen before,” he retorted. Aziraphale was soaked to the bone and he’d be damned if the man caught his death of cold over a little rain. Crowley stood close and peeled off the soaked undershirt before tossing it to one side. His fingers drifted to the waist of the blonde’s drawers and he noticed the slight intake of breath when Aziraphale’s eyes drifted down to watch him.

Crowley caught his gaze and maintained eye contact as he bent down, pulling the garment off before standing up again. With Aziraphale’s modesty preserved, he grabbed the quilt off of his bed and wrapped it around his friend’s shoulders.

He picked up the pile of wet clothing and made for the door, pausing as he turned around. “I’ll lay these by the fire and see to your books. There’s a union suit in the dresser so just help yourself.”

Aziraphale emerged from the bedroom shortly after and Crowley looked up from where he was sitting by the fire. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the blonde wearing his long johns, which were easily two sizes too small. Not only small- they hugged the man’s shapely thighs and rear as if they’d been painted on- but also quite thin. With one glance Crowley could make out the shadow of the blonde’s pink nipples, the dip of his belly button, and moving lower than that…

Crowley swallowed hard and forced his eyes toward the fire where the books were laid out. “These are drying up nicely,” he said in a rough voice.

Aziraphale went to his knees and fumbled with the books fussily, but it was then that Crowley noticed he’d broken out in a fine sweat.

“Are you feeling alright?” the farmer asked nervously. The blonde’s eyes were wide and unfocused.

“Mm,” Aziraphale responded vaguely. “Everything…” his voice cut out. “Thing’s...tickety boo.” He crumpled in on himself and Crowley’s hands shot out to steady his friend.

“Right,” the redhead said to himself. “Let’s get you to bed.” He heaved the dead weight Aziraphale had become toward the spare room and carefully laid him down on the mattress.

“You’re burning up,” Crowley said more to himself, and an echo from his memory came back, chilling him to the core. He’d said those words before.

The farmer panicked, immediately thinking of the medic in the town. “I’m going to get the doctor!” he cried out, but Aziraphale’s hand closed over his own.

“No need,” the blonde said weakly. “It’s just a head cold, I’m sure. I’ve been a little fuzzy the last few days.”

Crowley nodded, willing himself to believe the man, but his anxiety remained. He refused to leave his friend’s side even as the blonde drifted to sleep. The storm raged on and occasional hail hit the side of the house. Crowley adamantly tried to stay awake and eventually shifted to sit on the side of the bed, checking Aziraphale’s forehead every twenty minutes.

“You’ll be alright,” he whispered as his eyes went to the heavens. It was as close to a prayer as he’d gotten in years.

-

Crowley lifted one heavy eyelid as a shaft of light gently settled on his face. He was so warm and comfortable he didn’t want to move. Slowly he detected something in his hand, and moved his fingers to find they were interwoven with Aziraphale’s. At some point in the night Crowley had snuggled up behind the blonde and thrown his arm over him.

Aziraphale was still fast asleep, so Crowley did not resist the urge he felt to tuck his face into the back of his friend’s neck. He nuzzled the warm skin there and breathed in the scent of faded soap, rain, and sweat. If anyone had walked in on them Crowley would have formulated a thousand reasons, excuses, and lies to cover his actions, but there was no one there to judge or question. In the absence of speculation, even from Aziraphale, he could give in to something he’d only dreamed about.

Crowley had never been with a man. He’d never even considered it before the blonde showed up on his doorstep. He’d loved his wife and found her attractive enough, but even then he had to admit something had been missing. Some need unfulfilled.

His hand slowly untangled from Aziraphale’s and began to explore the curve of his thigh and around where it met his rear. He squeezed gently and his thumb brushed over one of the buttons that held the backside of the fabric together. Oh.

The thought came to him in a rush and he couldn’t get it out of his mind. If he unbuttoned the flap he could trace his hand over the warm skin beneath. His fingers could dip into the cleft and spread those cheeks, drifting over that forbidden bud. Crowley inhaled shallowly as he felt himself harden.

Aziraphale shifted a little in his sleep and Crowley’s hand withdrew before it acted of its own accord, shame eating him up inside. He pushed his sinful urges back down to where they’d come, intent on squashing them until they vanished. Aziraphale was his friend...to think of him in any other way was a betrayal.

Perhaps out of a desire to further punish himself his mind drifted back to the night of the festival, the way the blonde had looked at him when he leaned in too close for comfort. Those blue eyes were lit like two beacons under the moon and Crowley could tell himself that his own drunken stupor filled them with anything other than curiosity or apprehension. But there had been a moment when he’d almost crossed the line. Just a taste. Just to see.

Crowley breathed in shakily and his lips whispered against the back of Aziraphale’s neck. His arm moved back over the blonde’s torso and pulled him closer. Oh god how he wanted.

Aziraphale made a noise in the back of his throat and Crowley stilled, absolutely terrified to be discovered this way. But then the blonde turned on his back to face the redhead and his eyes opened, hooded with sleep.

“Crowley,” he said simply, a small smile on his lips. He pushed his forehead against the redhead’s and sighed. It seemed for a long while that he’d fallen back to sleep, but his voice came again, higher and more alert. “How long was I out?”

“Hours,” Crowley said softly, trying to control the fear that was squeezing at his throat. He needed to get out of this situation before something untoward happened. He started to sit up when an iron hand clamped down on his arm, drawing him back toward the pillow.

“Stay,” Aziraphale pleaded. Crowley wanted nothing more.

“I’ve missed out on half the day’s chores tending to you,” he said gruffly, a forced attempt at resentment. “And I need to check on your books.”

“Oh, the books!” Aziraphale sat up like he’d been struck by lightning. He jumped out of the bed and fell onto the floor.

“Steady!” Crowley commanded as he followed him down. He propped his shoulder under the blonde’s arm and maneuvered him back into bed despite protests to the contrary. “Now listen here,” the redhead barked once the rebellious houseguest was interred, “You’re going to sit right there until you’re well. I’ll brook no argument. If I hear one more word about those damned books I’m gonna throw the lot in the fire. Now sit tight while I go make some breakfast. Understand?”

Aziraphale nodded in defeat. He didn’t have any other options.

Crowley turned to leave and found his hand had been captured once more. Huffing in annoyance he swiveled his head to frown at his friend.

“I just wanted to say...thank you,” Aziraphale mumbled. He relaxed his grip and settled down into the sheets, his head already falling to the side as his eyes closed. Crowley’s gaze turned wistful as he tucked the quilt tightly around the blonde’s shoulders.

8.

It took another few days before Aziraphale was able to sit up and stay awake for more than a few hours. At one point Crowley rode into town to grab some spare clothes and to make sure Anathema didn’t think that Aziraphale had simply vanished altogether, but outside of that the redhead remained at his friend’s side like a mother hen.

Crowley would read to him haltingly, as best he could, and Aziraphale would help with the harder words. At one point Crowley brought in a title that sounded interesting to him, but it seemed to make the blonde shut down inside. Crowley sat down on the edge of the bed trying to understand what had gone wrong.

Aziraphale ran his hands over the book like a long lost friend.

“Is it...a sad story?” Crowley asked as he watched the strange reaction taking place.

“It is, actually,” the blonde replied, coming back into himself a little. “It was written by an acquaintance of mine.”

“You’re friends with a real writer?” the farmer asked, dumbfounded.

“Anyone can write, my dear,” Aziraphale suggested mildly. “But he elevated it to an art. For example, he invented the axiom: We are all of us in the gutters. But some of us are looking at the stars.”

Crowley chewed on that for a minute. “Beautiful... Is he back in England?” He couldn’t deny the envy that motivated his question.

“He is,” the blonde replied dully. “In prison.”

The farmer’s eyes went wide. “What was his crime?”

Aziraphale met his eyes with a challenge. His fingernails dug into the book before relaxing again. “Sodomy,” he answered. “Oscar is a homosexual.”

“A homo-” Crowley began and shook his head.

“He had relations with men,” Aziraphale clarified unflinchingly.

Crowley’s face went through three shades of red as he realized what that meant.

“As much as I’ve appreciated your hospitality,” his friend went on, “I doubt you’ll want to host me much longer after learning that I left England for the same reason. I was cut out of my family and decided exile was preferable to imprisonment.”

The redhead couldn’t formulate any words in response, too overwhelmed with the implications of what Aziraphale had said.

The blonde’s eyes stopped searching Crowley’s and shifted to the wall, filling with unshed tears. “I’ve never understood why we love who we love, but I know that it cannot be changed or bargained for. Acting on it is a choice, and as I know, an immoral one in the eyes of God. I can only imagine you think me the worst sort of heathen, unfit for friendship or compassion. I just want you to know I hold you in the highest regard despite my own failings.”

Aziraphale threw back the quilt covering his legs and moved to stand, no doubt presuming his invitation would be rescinded, but Crowley pushed him back down.

“In case you haven’t noticed there’s little room for God in this house,” the redhead said earnestly. “Naught else but what you’ve brought in it. I’ll kindly ask you to leave him at the door if he judges the people I love so cruelly.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise.

“As for your failings…” Crowley followed up shortly. “I haven’t seen one to speak of.”

The redhead stood up and walked toward the door, lingering by the frame before turning around. “I’m going to make you some lunch. You haven’t eaten enough for my liking. And um...Aziraphale...I’m sorry about your friend.”

Crowley strode from the room with purpose, leaving Aziraphale to absorb everything that had just been said. The tears that were threatening to fall spilled over, but not for the same reason they had formed. He’d never told anyone about his affairs in England for fear of persecution, and even just moments ago he was sure he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. But it seemed Crowley accepted him and everything he was without question or alteration. And to top it all off, had placed him in the category of people that he loved.

Aziraphale certainly placed Crowley there if not on an even higher pedestal. Crowley was not ‘one of.’ He was ‘the one.’ Even if he couldn’t have it.

-

Crowley walked to the barn to gather some eggs when everything hit him from the side. He stumbled over his own feet and blindly felt for the closest wall nearby, holding onto it for dear life. His heart was pounding harder than it ever had and his knees were weak.

Thoughts raced through his head so fast he could hardly parse them. Aziraphale liked men. Relations with men. He’d talked about love and oh fuck, did Crowley say he loved him? Not directly. His mind continued to whirl with the implications of Aziraphale’s words. Had he been with a man? Kissed one? His brain supplied an unhelpful image of the blonde kissing someone else. Rejecting that, it replaced the stranger with Crowley himself. What would that be like? Their tongues sliding together...yes. What if he walked right back into that bedroom and held the blonde down, taking what he wanted without a word?

Crowley cut off that line of thought and imagined a life with Aziraphale on the farm. Filling the previous quiet of his days with long walks and reading aloud. And at night…the things he would do to that man... God he was frustrated. He’d already thought about it but now it was actually possible. He could just curl his arm around the man and burrow his hand into his pants. Crowley didn’t even realize when he’d done just that to himself as he flattened his frame against the wall.

His breaths came out short and quick as he jerked himself off, no longer able to resist the ache that kept hitting him again and again. He could have Aziraphale. He could make him his.

“God, fuck,” Crowley grunted as he imagined the blonde behind him, riding him with abandon. “Uhnn…” The redhead keened at the thought of Aziraphale kissing down the back of his neck, digging his nails into his hips. It felt so good. Indescribable. Aziraphale fucking him.

Crowley let loose and came, sending his seed into the dirt. He gasped as his head lolled back making sharp contact with the wood. He felt strung out and boneless yet lifted up at the same time. If it felt that good just thinking about the man… Crowley wiped his brow and tucked himself back in before attempting to walk a few paces. He was so fucked. So utterly, utterly ruined.

9.

Crowley was loathe to see Aziraphale return to town. There had been so many opportunities to confess his feelings yet he balked everytime. He knew if he could just get started, if he could formulate the first words, it would be easy. But he didn’t even know how to begin.

It wasn’t just that, though. Wouldn’t Aziraphale hate being cooped up at the farm when he’d obviously chosen to settle in town? He came from a finer lifestyle than Crowley could provide, and would want for more refined society. He imagined the blonde entertaining, making small cakes and tea for his guests in Tadfield. Not sitting around in a cabin with nothing to do while Crowley worked in the field.

And if they were caught out...what would happen to them then? The denizens of Tadfield were kind enough, but how far did that kindness extend? How could two men be together without becoming ostracized, or even arrested? Crowley thought about all these things as he did his chores in a daze. Since his friend had left everything seemed colorless and hopeless. And yet he wanted. He wanted and wanted and wanted.

Aziraphale wasn’t much better off. Since he’d returned to town he’d been fighting a sincere depression. Of course it was wonderful that Crowley accepted him and would carry his secret, but now Aziraphale found himself pining in a way he’d never done before. He wanted more than friendship with the man.

In England there had been designated clubs where gentlemen could meet others of the same persuasion. Even if these trysts were temporary, they provided relief in a world that defined normality by opposition. Once or twice Aziraphale had imagined running away with Crowley, perhaps starting somewhere new. They could say they were brothers or cousins. But this fantasy fell flat when he thought about how hard Crowley had worked to create the life he had now. He couldn’t ask him to throw away five years of toiling on his farm just to do it all over again.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Anathema noticed the change in him.

“Are you going back to see Crowley anytime soon?” she asked one day. Aziraphale hadn’t been to the farm for a few weeks after his illness.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” the blonde replied as he checked in a pile of books. “Why do you ask?”

The brunette sighed and leaned on her hand. “Oh I was just wondering if his apple trees were bearing fruit. Newt and I like to go there and pick them fresh when we can, and I have a hankering for apple pie.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. “Well I’ll try to mention it next time I head that way.”

The truth was he had no intention of returning anytime soon. While he wanted to see the man more than anything else in the world, that was also the reason he’d decided to avoid him. The heartache was too constant.

He was more than shocked when Crowley showed up at the library not a week after his conversation with Anathema, a chagrined look on his face.

“Did the traveling library shut down?” the redhead asked as he leaned on the counter.

Aziraphale looked at Anathema who was hastily removing herself to check on some new acquisitions in the back. No help there. He glanced back at Crowley and gave him a weak smile.

“Not as such,” he replied. “Just have a lot of work to do here, you know.”

“Oh,” the farmer replied. “Well I have a yearning for some literature. My reading’s really coming along. I brought back the last few you loaned me.” He shoved a small stack toward the blonde and winced when Aziraphale didn’t reply.

“Maybe I should ask Anathema…” Crowley followed up lamely.

“No no,” Aziraphale said, finding his voice. It was hard to look him in the eyes. He was so beautiful. “Come with me. We’ll find something up your alley.”

The stacks were small but still boasted over a few hundred titles to choose from. Aziraphale led the way toward the fiction and began to peruse the selection. As he peered sideways at the books Crowley’s hand came to rest on the shelf near his head.

“I was hoping you might be able to come up and visit soon,” the redhead said evenly, a little practiced in his delivery.

Aziraphale glanced at the man and wondered if he was lonely out there all alone. “Certainly I’d like to,” he hedged.

Crowley stared at him and finally just nodded, looking back at the books. “So what do you recommend?”

The blonde selected a few novels and led his friend back to the front to sign the paper slips. Crowley smiled as he put his well-written signature to the paper, winking at Aziraphale as he did so, which made the librarian flush with pleasure. Crowley was just about to leave when he noticed a shelf behind the blonde, some ancient and worn tomes crowded together.

Aziraphale followed his eye and smiled. “Those are some of my rare books,” he supplied. “Not for circulation, of course.”

Crowley came around the counter and drew his finger over the spines in admiration until he came to one he recognized. He pulled the slim volume out and Aziraphale blushed profusely.

“I seem to remember you saying something about this one,” the farmer said, his eyes flashing with mischief. He read the the words on the spine out loud. “Teleny, or the Reverse of the Medal.”

“Yes, well…” Aziraphale reached out to snatch the book but Crowley held it high in the air.

“Didn’t this one have some...unsavory aspects to it? I believe you said it was a romance.”

The librarian glanced around the room as if someone might arrest him on the spot. “It is,” he said in a hushed voice. “Now give it back.” He moved closer and even hopped in the air trying to reclaim it, which made the redhead laugh.

“I think I might take it with me,” Crowley teased.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale begged. “Please leave it. It’s...it’s not what you think! You will be scandalized!”

“Is that a promise?” the farmer replied, looking around to make sure the library was empty, which it was. He leaned closer to the blonde and hovered his mouth over the shell of his ear. “And what if I like it?”

Aziraphale slumped back like he’d been hit, the shock on his face mixing with confused arousal. Crowley took pity on him and walked back around to the other side of the counter, but did not relinquish his prize. “Tell you what,” he negotiated. “I’ll take this little gem home with me and you can come retrieve it in a few days. That is, if you ever want to see it again.”

“Please Crowley,” the librarian pleaded. “Do not read it.”

“Maybe I won’t,” the redhead drawled. “If you promise to pick it up.”

“Okay!” Aziraphale agreed quickly. “I will! I’ll come by in two days, as you said. Just don’t open it. Swear you won’t.”

Crowley stacked the book on top of the others and opened his mouth, only to shut it again. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and left the building and the sputtering librarian behind. Despite all of his humanitarian instincts, in that moment Aziraphale desperately wished he’d never taught the man to read.

10.

Crowley hadn’t meant to tease and flirt and tempt and apparently steal, but Aziraphale brought out the worst in him. He’d hardly left town before he propped the book open, reading snatches of lines while jostling on top of his horse. When that proved impossible he focused on the road, thinking only of a pair of blue eyes that were as terrified as they were innocent to Crowley’s intentions. Of course Crowley guessed the content of ‘Teleny’ would contain some element of “indecent” activities between men, but he wasn’t prepared for the explicit instructiveness the text ended up providing.

Settled in at home, Crowley learned that men and women could put their mouths on each other for pleasure, which he had never even imagined. That two men could do the same was fuel for a thousand fantasies, all of them involving Aziraphale. The descriptions of men mastubating each other were equally inspiring. He’d only ever done that to himself and while he’d slept with his wife, there had been a goal-oriented approach to conception that precluded any type of foreplay, as it were.

Perhaps most useful and world-shattering for the man was the lengthy rundown of male penetration, essentially providing a step by step guide to the act. Crowley reread it a dozen times and more and still couldn’t sate himself. By the end of the first day he was already regretting and yet highly anticipating Aziraphale’s return. He found himself enlightened, if not completely spent for how many times he took himself in hand.

Aziraphale rode up on the second day and Crowley smiled smugly as he watched the man approach. He couldn’t decide whether he would reveal his predilection for the subject matter or if he’d simply pretend he didn’t get around to reading it. The important thing was that his friend was there, which had been the driving force behind his actions, at least initially.

Crowley answered the door to find the blonde shifting nervously on his doorstep.

“Good day, Crowley,” he said tightly. Whenever he got anxious Aziraphale would become more and more proper, which was incredibly endearing.

The redhead stood to one side and Aziraphale entered his home, glancing around as if someone might jump out and attack him. For his part, Crowley shut the door and leaned against it, blocking the only exit as he watched his friend appraisingly.

“Read any good books lately?” the farmer asked.

Aziraphale looked absolutely tortured and for a moment Crowley almost relented, except he was enjoying it too much. He wanted to draw this out for as long as possible.

“A few,” the librarian answered in a clipped tone, trying to hold his lamentable poker face in check. “But of course, I’ve come to collect my own if you don’t mind.”

“Can I ask you something?” the farmer shifted his weight and crossed his arms. “What exactly were you so afraid of when I took it?”

The blonde clasped his hands over his stomach and flinched. “You know what I am, Crowley. Surely you could have deduced the contents of that novel.”

“So?” Crowley prompted.

Aziraphale began to tremble. He looked absolutely miserable. “So I didn’t want it to color the way you see me!” he spat out. “It’s one thing to guess or assume. It’s quite another to have it detailed.”

“It is,” the redhead admitted. “And here you are consumed with guilt.”

Aziraphale drew nearer, his posture penitent and desperate. “I am, Crowley. I never should have let you take it. Oh, what you must think of me!”

Crowley hadn’t planned this far, but something about Aziraphale’s reaction drove him to feel something totally unexpected. He watched the blonde flit about, all consternation and nervous energy, and from somewhere instinctual he felt the desire to control. Set the rules. He twitched and settled into himself. No, he wanted to enforce the rules.

“The way I see it there’s only one way to relieve your guilt,” Crowley said steadily, his tone lowering into something dangerous and potent.

It gained Aziraphale’s attention, wringing out the panic in his eyes. He stood before Crowley obediently. “What?” he asked.

Crowley’s mouth set into a hard line and his eyes grew severe. “Get down on your knees,” he commanded.

Aziraphale stared at him as if trying to read every minute aspect of his features. When Crowley didn’t back down the blonde caved, one leg after the other as his knees kissed the hardwood floor. “Crowley…” he said in a choked whisper.

The farmer moved forward until his waist was just a few inches in front of Aziraphale’s face. He looked down at the blonde with unrelenting adoration in his eyes. Aziraphale breathed in unsteadily beneath him, a question coupled with desire unspoken.

He raised one hand and hovered it over Crowley’s belt, waiting for any signal to stop or proceed. When the redhead inhaled sharply and bit his lower lip Aziraphale’s fingers curled around the buckle.

Crowley groaned at the contact and the blonde used his other hand to slowly draw his belt off before working on the trouser buttons. His eyes never left Crowley’s, giving him a million chances to back out if he wanted to. He didn’t.

“You look like a goddamned angel,” Crowley sighed as he curled his fingers in the blonde’s hair.

Aziraphale smiled up at him, coquettish and then wicked as he drew the trousers and underlying pants to the ground and off. Crowley’s erection sprang forward, leaking and ready. The redhead let out a shaky breath as Aziraphale’s lips parted, the hot air from his lungs already caressing his stiff cock. And then those lips were wrapping around him, and he might as well have been freefalling from the highest point in the world. Rapture.

Crowley stood stock still as Aziraphale worked over him, his tongue lathing while his hand tugged gently at the base of him. Sex had never felt this good. Nothing had ever felt this good, and Crowley was already regretting that he couldn’t kiss the man in thanks without losing that feeling. In the end he didn’t have to, because Aziraphale’s hand continued to work as he rose up, forcing Crowley against the door with a muted thud.

“Is this what you wanted?” the blonde demanded, and Crowley knew the tables had definitely turned. Aziraphale was in control now, and fuck how he loved every minute of it.

“Yeah,” the redhead answered between shaking breaths. “Yes. You’re all I think about.”

Aziraphale’s mouth came closer and Crowley tried to kiss him but the blonde drew back teasingly. A small laugh escaped him and Crowley growled, practically snarling as Aziraphale repeated his game again and again. Only once the redhead groaned in agony did Aziraphale close in and give him his lips.

Crowley’s hands came up and cradled the blonde’s cheeks, the kiss moving from lust to tenderness and back again. Their tongues touched and caressed in endless exploration, trying to learn each other even as they battled for dominance.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, and it was a prayer to him. He pushed back against the blonde and suddenly dipped, grabbing under his knees and propelling him up. Aziraphale locked his legs around Crowley’s waist as he walked them to the main bedroom. He laid him down on the bed and crawled over him, breaking their kiss to suck and nip the expanse of the blonde’s creamy throat. When Aziraphale moaned Crowley pulled off and seemed to get caught just staring at the man.

“Crowley,” the blonde whispered needily.

“I love you Aziraphale,” the redhead stated. He needed to say it. He couldn’t not say it anymore. “I’m sorry but I...I just love you so fucking much. Every thought turns to you.”

The look on Aziraphale’s face was heartbreaking in its disbelief, like he’d never heard the words before or maybe even imagined them, but they were for him. He surged forward and pressed Crowley into a searing kiss, a cry pulled from the back of his throat as they moved together.

Aziraphale tore off Crowley’s shirt and ran his hands over the expanse of his chest while the redhead worked feverishly to disrobe the blonde, not stopping until they were completely bared to one another. Crowley’s eyes were worshipful as he scanned down the length of his partner’s body, resting on his stout cock before threading his fingers over it. He pulled a few moans from the blonde as he rutted against one of the pale muscular thighs beneath him.

“God...fuck, Aziraphale,” tore out of Crowley’s throat. He felt like he was burning of fever, both agony and ecstasy.

Aziraphale threw his leg over the redhead and pinned him to the bed, biting down the column of his throat as they pressed together. “I want to make love to you,” he gasped. “Do you have-”

Crowley grabbed a bottle of something by the bed and handed it to Aziraphale, who appraised it with a questioning smile.

“The book,” Crowley explained, not one shred of embarrassment on his face. “I really like that book.”

Aziraphale was laughing until he coated himself and his fingers in the oil, and then he was pressing one careful finger in and around the delicate entrance of his lover.

Crowley had imagined what it might feel like, but nothing could have prepared him. Aziraphale knew exactly how to manipulate him, and soon two curving fingers were lifting him to new heights of pleasure even beyond an orgasm. Aziraphale pulled out and sank his cock inside, thrumming as he watched the redhead’s tortured expression.

Crowley mutely begged for the blonde to move and he did, thrusting swiftly but carefully as he filled him out. After so much tension and buildup neither would last for long, so Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s stiff cock and began to milk it in time with the snap of his hips. Crowley didn’t cry out so much as fold in on himself, choked expressions of ‘ohgodfuckyesplease’ wringing from his throat. He arched and came in thick spurts and Aziraphale chased his orgasm with two final thrusts that left him shuddering on top of the redhead, broken and useless in the aftermath.

“Oh my God,” Crowley huffed out as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, their bodies sticky, hot, and spent. “Oh my fucking God.”

11.

Aziraphale woke up near dawn and was disappointed to find he was alone. He wrapped himself in the quilt and walked around the house, but Crowley was nowhere to be seen. From out the window he could see a dull light coming from the barn.

It was cool outside but not too chilly as he made his way across the yard, peeking into the animal shelter to see Crowley milking one of the cows while humming tunelessly to himself. He looked up in surprise as the blonde entered, a shy smile on his face.

“Morning,” Crowley greeted. “Coffee?” He nodded toward a steaming cup and Aziraphale took it gratefully before spitting it out.

“That’s terrible!” he complained. “I’m making the coffee from now on.”

Crowley stretched up, apparently done with his chore as he drew the blonde into his lap. “That so?” He hugged Aziraphale tightly and dug his chin into the blanket. The cow moved off, seeing her invitation had worn out.

“How long have you known?” the librarian asked after a while. “I mean...how long have you felt the way you have?”

Crowley glanced up toward the sky in silent calculation. “I knew there was something about you right away, but I didn’t have a name for it til after you left here the first time. I realized then that I wanted you to stay. And then I missed you.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I thought it was just me.”

Crowley tilted the blonde’s chin so their lips could meet tenderly. “Not just you,” he said in a scratchy voice. “You know, I had a million reasons why there could never be anything between us. Mostly worrying about other people’s opinions or ideas about the kind of life you’d prefer.”

“We can’t change what anyone else thinks,” Aziraphale agreed, “but we could share a quiet life here, just the two of us. I don’t know what you think I want, but I could be generally happy anywhere, doing anything, as long as you’re there too.”

The redhead gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Perhaps we should go inside and get some breakfast,” Aziraphale recommended. The men stood and walked out of the barn, breaths coming out as fog as the sun rose just enough to light their way.

It was Crowley who stopped first, his entire body going rigid as he faced the man who had just dismounted his horse.

“Shadwell,” the redhead stated.

Aziraphale clutched the quilt around his body and felt his heart stop on a dime.

“Mornin,” Shadwell said as he heaved a heavy bag off of his mare. He stopped and stared at Aziraphale wrapped in a bedsheet, then looked back at Crowley a little too long.

“I brought the seed starters you asked about,” he followed up in a gruff voice. “No charge, seein’ as you helped me with my booth this year. I made ten times what I had done.”

Crowley took the bag and nodded while Shadwell eyed his companion.

“Well,” the man said finally. “I’m gonna get on. Lots of work to do.” He rehorsed himself and squeezed his mare around the middle, trotting away until he was nothing more than a dot on the horizon.

The pair watched him go, not daring to move until he was out of sight. Then Crowley walked into the cabin without a word and Aziraphale quickly followed. Once the door was closed they looked at each other significantly.

“Do you think he-” Aziraphale couldn’t finish the sentence.

Crowley strode toward him with purpose. “I don’t care,” he breathed before locking Aziraphale into a searing kiss. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to the blonde’s. “I don’t want to live in fear,” he said. “And now that I have you...I’ll be damned if I ever let you go.”

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s biceps and let his head fall in the nook under the redhead’s chin. “It’s more complicated than that,” he lamented. “If Shadwell tells anyone what he’s seen…” He forced himself to look into the farmer’s eyes and bit his lower lip.

“Shadwell is a lot of things but he’s not a gossip,” Crowley asserted. “I think for now we should just take each day as it comes. Do you think you can live with that?”

Aziraphale offered him a small smile. “I suppose I’ll have to. We both will.”

-

Aziraphale went back to town that afternoon and was surprised to see Anathema at his doorstep. “Ah, Mr. Fell!” she said happily. “I’m so glad to see you!”

The blonde squinted as he observed the woman. She looked different somehow. “How are you today, Ms. Device?”

“Wonderful!” she replied before lifting her hand for him to see. A modest engagement ring sparkled on her finger.

“Oh!” Aziraphale cried cheerfully. “I assume Mr. Pulsifer is finally making an honest woman of you.”

“He is indeed,” the brunette laughed. “I thought we could celebrate. Are you free for lunch?”

Aziraphale could only imagine the state of himself, essentially just returned from an unanticipated overnight complete with telling bedhead and rumpled clothing. “I’d love nothing more,” he said. “Let me freshen up and we’ll be off.”

He got ready in a hurry, changing his clothes and smoothing down his wayward curls before joining Anathema outside. She was admiring her ring, and doubtfully noticed anything amiss with Aziraphale...or so he thought.

“Out late?” she asked innocently as they walked toward one of the town’s more popular restaurants.

The blonde swallowed hard and began to twiddle his fingers. “Indeed!” he replied. “Got lost in the dark, you see. Terribly inconvenient.”

“Ah,” Anathema replied. “Where did you bed down?”

Fuck. Aziraphale mulled over the answer in his mind. If Shadwell said anything he’d be caught in a lie. “I’m sad to report I had to inconvenience Mr. Crowley once again,” he replied.

“Mm,” the woman hummed. “You must have inconvenienced him all night.”

Aziraphale turned bright red and pretended to examine a particularly interesting stone on the road.

“He certainly is an interesting fellow,” Anathema went on. “At least I’ve always thought so.” They arrived at the restaurant and Aziraphale reached out to pull the door for his companion, happy to be distracted from the topic of conversation.

“Of course he’s always been a solitary man,” Anathema continued to Aziraphale’s chagrin. “Even before his wife passed.” They sat down at a nearby table and the brunette waved to the owner. He seemed to know what she wanted already and Aziraphale assumed he’d be getting the same.

“If you ask me, it’s like he was always looking for something he couldn’t quite find,” she mused as she drummed her fingers on the table. “I wonder if he ever found it. But then, silly me, I’m sure he has.”

“I’m not sure I can comment on the matter,” Aziraphale said at last, breaking in before she could keep going.

“Can’t you?” Anathema asked, fluttering her eyelashes. She smiled warmly at the man and placed a hand over his. “Mr. Fell...I think it’s time I told you a few secrets about Tadfield.”

12.

“In case you haven’t noticed we’re a bit of a refuge,” Anathema explained between delicate bites of her chicken salad. “Misfits seem to flock here like ants on jam, and that’s just the way we like it. Take Shadwell, for instance.”

Aziraphale perked up, intensely interested in what his companion was about to say.

“That man is married to the flask he keeps in his back pocket, but Heaven knows he’d give it up in a second if Madame Tracy would finally realize he’s been in love with her for two decades. Rumor is he was on the run from the law when he first came here. Some think he palled around with Billy the Kid, or actually IS Billy the Kid. Either way, Shadwell is an alias for something else.”

The blonde nodded in amazement.

“Now Tracy is a fortune teller, raised by gypsies in Hungary before she came here as a mail-order bride. Some say she killed her husband, an abusive gambler who may or may not have stolen the recipe for chewing gum from the Wrigley Company in Chicago.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Preposterous!”

“As for me,” Anathema went on, “My people hail from Salem, Massachusetts, and were never very friendly with the church, if you take my meaning. I practice tarot and divine prophecy in my spare time, though you’ll never hear me admit it to anyone else. I’m not a devil worshipper, or anything ridiculous like that, so I’ll thank you to not make trouble for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge,” the blonde replied.

“I would never judge you either,” the brunette said carefully as she dabbed at her lips with a napkin. “Most people around here wouldn’t, truthfully. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Aziraphale felt uneasy. His friend had fixed him with an earnest look as if waiting for him to confess something. Instead he took a bite of his food and stared at the wall.

“No one cares if you and Crowley want to be together,” Anathema said finally. Aziraphale choked on his meal and struggled to chase it down with his glass of iced tea on the table.

“Wha?” he managed to retort between gulps. The brunette looked at him passively.

“You can live openly here,” Anathema clarified. “No one’s going to haul you off to jail or lay a hand on you. It’s already been discussed. You are welcome in Tadfield.”

Aziraphale hardly knew what to say. He’d never even imagined living in a community that would openly embrace his sexuality. Having lived so cautiously, he couldn’t help but feel that this was some sort of trap. “I don’t...Ms. Device, I must insist! I’m not...we’re not…”

“Okay,” Anathema calmed him by placing her hand over his. “Alright. Whatever you want. Just know that this is a special place, my dear friend. There are people who care for you and support you. I think running around under cover of night is going to get tiring, to say the least, so I wanted to save you the effort. People know. They don’t object to it, and you are safe here. Take some time and think about it.”

The blonde ate the rest of his meal in a hurry, too nervous to remain in public while trying to process Anathema’s words. At the first opportunity, he excused himself and practically ran back to his apartment. In the relative quiet of his room he could breathe more easily. Was what Anathema promised really possible? Could he and Crowley have a life together without provocation? It seemed too good to be true. He took a deep breath and tried to see it. Holding hands with Crowley while strolling to the post office. Kissing in the rain outside of the farmer’s market. Their friends...the friends they would share together...wishing them happiness. It sounded so beautiful.

-

Aziraphale returned to the farm a few days later. It was toward the end of the week when they’d usually read together, so he hoped Crowley would be expecting him. He found the redhead up on a ladder, stripping the aging paint off the barn. Aziraphale pulled on the reigns and slowed to a stop below, Lee crowding in to greet him as always.

“Goodness, you’re high up,” the blonde remarked. “Take care you don’t fall!”

Crowley cocked his head and smirked down at him. “Oh I’ve taken a tumble or two before. Hasn’t stopped me yet. Besides, wouldn’t I fall into your arms?”

“I would hope so,” Aziraphale smiled warmly and hopped down from his cart, patting Lee’s head. “But I’d prefer that you did so on solid ground.”

Crowley moved down the ladder and set his supplies aside before gathering the blonde in his embrace. He nipped at Aziraphale’s lower lip, tugging gently. “I missed you,” he confessed in a rough voice.

“It’s only been two days,” Aziraphale informed him, prim and coquettish at the same time.

The redhead couldn’t reign in the possessive growl that tore from his throat as he lifted the blonde bodily. “Too long.” Aziraphale squirmed and giggled as Crowley ushered him into the house, their flirtatious game turning into something more urgent along the way. They’d hardly crossed the threshold before Crowley was pawing at the blonde’s clothing, tugging it off as he led the man to the bedroom.

Their second time together was better than the first, having mapped and learned the routes each other liked best. Crowley kissed Aziraphale slowly as he worked his hand down to cup his erection, gentle pressure coaxing the blonde toward him.

“Make love to me,” the redhead whispered. “I feel so empty without you.”

Aziraphale groaned and turned his lover over, stripping him of his pants and all before kissing down his bare back. “I’m going to have you with my tongue first,” was all the warning Aziraphale provided. His mouth had already dipped to the part in Crowley’s cheeks and trailed down to his hole.

The farmer jerked when he felt the decisive lick up his cleft, spreading his legs to allow Aziraphale better access. The sounds that came out of his own mouth were unfamiliar, driven by shock and pleasure alike. Aziraphale handled him roughly, blunt nails burying into his glutes as his tongue threatened to split the man in two.

“I don’t...ngk...oh fuck! I’m…” Crowley’s words dissolved into a meaningless stream of consciousness as he felt himself pushed forward even as he bared down, circling his hips as Aziraphale’s tongue drove up further inside him.

Aziraphale took his time, paying no mind to the redhead’s halting keens or curses. When he was ready, he replaced his mouth with his cock and thrust with abandon. Crowley wanted every punishing thrust, and bounced back against the blonde with his ass high in the air.

“Tell me what to do!” Crowley cried desperately, feeling something deep and gnarled just below the surface of his desire. “I need you Aziraphale! Tell me I belong to you!”

“You are mine,” Aziraphale gasped as he rode the redhead. “And you’ll give over to me.”

The command broke Crowley into nothing, and he came without warning as Aziraphale took his own pleasure, fucking right through the redhead’s oversensitivy. Yet Crowley remained and didn’t struggle, gasping into the sheets. He’d let his lover take his fill as he’d been told. The submission was liberating in a way he’d never known.

Aziraphale finally withdrew and pulled at his own cock until he was spent, his come tracing a line up Crowley’s backside. He huffed once and collapsed no more than a shell of a man who’d given and been given everything he’d ever wanted. Their bodies and breath intermingled, tangled up and intractable.

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said when he felt that words had meaning again. His fingers stroked through the matted red hair of his lover, tugging at the knots. His lips embraced the soft spot under Crowley’s ear, tasting the salt and the earth on skin often hidden from the sun’s ceaseless brutality. He relished these tender parts Crowley exposed only to him.

Aziraphale spoke softly then, recounting the vow Anathema had made earlier that day. He wondered if Crowley would respond as he had...guarded, yet hopeful that they could have a real future together, no longer hidden away. The farmer surprised him when he sighed and turned his back into Aziraphale’s front, snuggling into the warmth of his body.

“Maybe she’s right,” he replied. “And maybe it’s possible. Stranger things have come to be, I’m starting to learn. Before I met you I felt adrift...a hole in the hull where my heart should’ve been. And then you appeared and I wanted to mend. Maybe you felt the same way.”

Aziraphale nuzzled into Crowley’s cheek to affirm it.

“I was the lucky one, though,” the farmer went on. “I think you’re stronger than me. When she died...when...Jenny and Flora died...all I wanted to do was sink down into the depths with them. But I didn’t even have the courage to disappear under the waves. I just floated on the surface...petrified and useless.”

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. Crowley had never even spoken their names before. The fact he’d been entrusted with them was precious and heavy.

“I thought all I knew was privation,” Crowley said, his voice raw and filled with emotion. “But now I have something that’s impossible to lose. I have you as you have me.”

Aziraphale knew then, at long last and finally that nothing mattered. Not their pasts or anything that had come before. None of the other details or extrinsic matters. Just them. Together they made it true, somehow. Because they were flotsam with the right to rise...two wrecked ships sidling up to a shore of their own making. And together, unafraid.

-

Aziraphale held on to Crowley’s hand tightly as they walked over paths that were once strange but became familiar. The harvesting season was nearly upon them and it fed the moon that gave light to their twilight pilgrimage, the loping steps of a hounddog leading the way.

Crowley laid down the first bunch of flowers and Aziraphale’s followed after. The clearing split like a raw lip but there was a balm now. Because once a pair of hands had carried the weight meant for two. And though both had suffered and lost so much, they shared the potential of what could be.

A few years ago Crowley wouldn’t have prayed in thanks or submission. He’d stopped picturing himself as a happy man who could believe in anything. But then there was Aziraphale and his stories, his damned books that proved men could invent worlds even unto themselves. Crowley had never considered himself to have that kind of power because he’d never put pen to paper as such, but he realized one didn’t have to create to see art in the everyday, in the gutters as much as the stars.


End file.
